


My King

by lavatorylovemachine



Category: Damien (TV)
Genre: Epistolary, Headcanon, M/M, Missing Scene, Obsession, Serial Killers, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7947529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavatorylovemachine/pseuds/lavatorylovemachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Charles Powell is killed, Detective Shay raids his apartment looking for answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My King

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be the epilogue for _Heaven's Hung in Black_ , but ultimately I decided that fic was going to focus on Charles' teenage years alone.
> 
> So this story is my headcanon's canon, if such a thing exists. Besides the obvious (and always unrequited) Charles/Damien, you'll also get to know what happened to some of my OCs from _Heaven_. But all in all, I've tried to make things as understandable as possible for newcomers too.
> 
> Title comes from "The Wilful King", one of the many names for the Antichrist.

The sun wasn't fully out yet and Detective Shay already ate breakfast at the dinner table. He was drinking his orange juice when he heard familiar footsteps approaching the kitchen.

"Honey?" Patrick said, rubbing an eye and still on his pajamas. "Do you have to go there so early?"

"It's the only way," James answered, his mouth half-full. He swallowed and continued. "The others can't know I'm going."

"You could have let it go, you know. The man is dead, love, and quite a gruesome death from what you told me. I'm worried about how this is all affecting you. First it was that Thorn guy and now this…"

"He was in love with Thorn. Killed for him. He finally admitted it at the station, when I was alone with him."

Silence followed those words. James stared out the windows as he continued to eat.

"Okay..." Patrick said. "But lots of other murderers also claimed to be in love--"

Patrick stopped talking at James shaking his head. "I'm interested in this one. I've never seen a case like this."

He got up, went for his coat in the hanger and put it on. With a smile, he kissed his husband briefly.

"See you later, love."

But Patrick still looked worried. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Don't I always?"

Smiling again, James shut the door and left.

 

Charles' apartment was clean, orderly, pristine, the opposite of Damien’s. The only similarity, James noticed, was the lack of light. There was a window in front of a large desk, but the shades were down and, judging by the dust around it, they had been so for a very long time.

James pulled the shades up to see more clearly. At the sides of Charles' desk laid piles of books and at the center there was a laptop. James opened the drawer and what he saw made him frown: it was a lock of brown hair held together by a locket and seemed oddly familiar. Was it… Thorn's? As if the hair had some sort of curse, James quickly pushed the drawer back in. The second drawer had school photos of Damien, some alone and some with other boys. James recognized Marquand in one of them, where he and Thorn seemed to be best friends.

He stared at the desk and then looked around the place. He was surprised there were no pictures of friends or relatives anywhere, let alone of Charles travelling to other places by himself. Or perhaps James shouldn't be so surprised after all.

He sat down and turned the laptop on. The password was easy to deduce: "Damien." Once the desktop screen appeared, James opened the web browser and went directly for the e-mail client. He had a feeling the answers laid in the emails, not in Powell’s browsing history.

Most of the emails were from Charles' mother and two people named Nicholas and Joanne. James read them all, the typical conversations between teenagers and a very close relationship with the mother.

"What happened to you, kid?" James muttered out loud.

There was one final email, laying in the trash folder. It was from Nicholas, telling Charles with details and an amused tone about a recently discovered "poof" from his school in London. James was well-versed in homophobic slurs from around the world and understood why the friendship between those boys had fallen out. But that Joanne girl… He decided to call the number she had left in the last email.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered in an English accent.

"Is this Miss Joanne Abbot?"

"Mrs. Blackwood now, but yes, this is her. Are you calling from America, sir?"

"Yes, my name is James Shay, I'm a detective in New York. Did you know Charles Powell?"

"Did?" Joanne's voice shook. "Yes, we used to be friends. Why, something happened?"

"He… died. He was murdered."

"Oh my God... Why? What happened?"

"It's complicated. He murdered someone else first. He killed a lot more people, actually, from what he confessed."

"Charles would never---"

"You sure you knew him well, Mrs. Blackwood?"

A short silence followed James' question. "Well, to be honest, we hadn't talked in ages. But he was so nice while we were friends... I used to..." Joanne chuckled in the midst of her teary sniffs. "I used to have a crush on him when we were fifteen."

"Really?" James said, his tone subtlety sardonic. "He was gay."

"What? How do you know that?"

"Let's just say it matches his killings. But I don’t wanna upset you any more by giving out more details, Mrs. It's better if you don't know certain things… What else can you tell me about Charles Powell?"

"We went to the same church and Christian camps, that's how we met. He is-- _was_ a great friend... Then he moved to America with his father and… Well, the last time I saw him was at his mum's funeral."

"She died? When?"

"On Christmas, 2001".

"Huh. Then what happened?"

"Everything changed, he stopped talking to me. He stopped talking to all his London friends. I still have no idea why. I think his mum's death affected him a lot. Then his father died and I lost all contact for good."

"His father died? How?"

"Poisoned, at his house. An accident, apparently."

"Hmm. And you didn't try to reach Charles?"

"There's not much you can do when people change, detective. But I'm still sad he was killed... As I said, he was a good friend. While he was in London, at least. Is he buried there in New York?"

"Yes, at the Marble Cemetery. I can get you there if you ever come here."

"Thanks, I will. Is there anything more you need to know, detective?"

"No, it's fine. Thanks for all your help. And my condolences, of course."

"Thank you. Goodbye, detective."

"Goodbye."

After hanging up, James clicked on the drafts folder. None of the emails had a subject line and all of them started with the line "Delivery failure: Destination e-mail doesn't exist" in red font. James decided to start with the oldest one.

_June 6th, 2016_

_Hello, Damien._

_Happy birthday :). I'm sure your Father must have told you all about you by now. Are you excited? I would if I were you. You're so special, love, sometimes I can’t believe we used to share a dorm._

_I've been missing you a lot. Can't believe we haven't talked in 14 years. I was so lucky to finally find your workplace yesterday, after seeing one of your photos in a magazine. You move around quite a lot, don't you? Your assistant gave me your email and told me what you do for a living. Adrian was right about you: you thrive in blood. Just like I do._

_I tend a flower shop here in New York. We have orchids, lilies, all kinds of stuff. You should come over sometime. I'm dying to see you._

_I don't know what else to tell you. That I love you even more than when we were kids? I think that's bloody obvious already, isn't it?_

_I'll write to you soon again. Remember that you can count on me for anything in your new path._

_Goodbye, my King._

 

_June 10th, 2016_

_Something's changing in the air, I can feel it. Things will pick up and it'll be our turn to take charge. I'm hopeful, as hopeful as I was when Adrian told me you were the Wilful King, only the feeling is much stronger now. In a little time God will be nothing but a memory, a bad dream we've woken up from. We'll finally be free._

_You won’t let us down, right, Damien? We trust you,_ I _trust you. I'm sure you'll be a great King. I'll be there when you rise to power, as your most loyal follower. I'm better than Adrian, better than everyone else._

_I hope you remember the day I killed Ritter and let all those Christians burn with him. I did it all for you. Besides being a sack of shit, Ritter wanted you dead. He told me he was sent here to watch you, but I'm sure he would have taken any chance to harm you. It's a good thing I'm here for you, love. No one will harm you while I'm around, okay? That's a promise and you know I never break a promise._

Thomas Ritter. James remembered that name vividly. He was still a rookie when that case came up so he wasn't allowed in the investigation, but he remembered the photographic evidence of the priest's sex crimes as well as the testimonies of his victims; around ten children and one teen. James wondered if Powell was also a victim and that was the reason behind the abuse of Ritter's body.

He also remembered the burnt bodies of the people at the church, the crying relatives, how it turned out impossible to identify and let alone bury some of the dead.

But the victims that resonated with James the most were two boys, one of high school age and the other of college age, whose bodies were found in the bushes in a position that implied they were a couple. Josh, that was the name of the younger one. Back then James had been sure those particular killings were homophobic, but now it was all confusing to him.

_June 27th, 2016_

_I don't know why you're not replying to my emails, love. Well, you're probably with someone right now. Does she make you happy? Not as much as I would, be sure of that. We belong together and I wish you could see it. One day..._

_I've improved since the church burning. I'm spilling a lot more blood, my King, to keep you happy, stronger and close to me. You'd be pleased with me. I choose clients at my shop, people on the street, neighbors, anyone I can find. I wish you could see the bodies, but they're hidden somewhere no one can find them. Don't be a curious little bird now, alright? ;) Just remember that they're there and I killed them for you. It's all for you._

 

_July 6th, 2016_

_I went to the bar again. You know I love you, my King, but my need for sex is something I can't control. Sometimes it's so bad I feel I'm going crazy with anger and frustration because no one wants sex with a disfigured man like me._

_I've been lucky a couple of times, however. Last night was one of those times. Good-looking, funny, didn’t care about my burns. He said he liked my eyes. But you know, he wasn't you. And everytime I'm with someone I think of you. I can’t help it. By now I've learned not to shout your name while I'm doing it, so that makes those encounters easier._

_I killed him while he was sleeping. He can't replace you, no one can._

_I still hope that one day you will walk through that door and take me. I told you when we were kids, I'm yours the moment I got the mark. You can do as you wish with me._

 

_July 7th, 2016_

_Remember when you got so drunk I had to put you in your pajamas? My beautiful liquor aficionado. But I'm glad you drank so much that night because you let me open up to you for the first time. You weren't mad or ignored me anymore, you just listened, and I love you even more for that. You didn't want to admit you liked hanging with me back then, but I'm sure you admit it now. It's been 14 years, love. You don’t have to explain anything to Cray and the others anymore._

_It was the best night of my life. The way we talked and joked around and how you let me be really close to you… I'll never forget it, my King._

James stopped reading, took out his phone and called Damien.

"What," the latter slurred.

"What exactly happened between you and Powell?"

"Ugh, not this shit again... Nothing happened. And how did you even get my number?"

"Are you really asking me that? I'm a cop, Thorn. And you know, it's never a good idea to lie to a cop. So I want straight answers."

"That's the straight answer, nothing happened," Damien said and yawned. "What makes you think otherwise?"

"I'm reading an email he sent you."

"Email?"

"I know you didn't get it, just let me finish. From what I gather here there was something between you too."

"There wasn't! He was crazy, you know that. He fucking cut my hair while I was passed out!"

"What?"

James read the final lines of the email.

_P.S. I still keep your hair after all this time. I hope you remember my gift too. I'd like to think I played some part in your thirst for blood ;)_

"Oh…" James muttered, preferring not to mention the blood bits. "I've just read that part. So what exactly happened that night?"

"I drank too much and he cut a lock of my hair while I was out. You know how creepy that is? I don't even want to remember."

"Yeah, I can imagine. So you didn't talk the whole night either?

"No… It was all in his head or something."

"…Okay. Do you remember someone named Josh, Thorn? From your school?"

"Gross Josh?"

"Thorn."

"Sorry, it's what we called him. I don't even remember his last name. Why do you ask?"

"Powell killed him. At that church, you know, 2002."

"Really? Well, I can't blame him. Josh spent the entire year bullying him. He bullied anyone he thought was gay. Which is--"

"Ironic?"

"Yeah. After he was killed we found out he had a thing with the guy he was found with and he'd slept with guys from other schools too."

"Always the same story with these homophobes…" James said and sighed. "But look at us, having a nice, pleasant conversation."

"Oh, fuck off."

"Is that morning crankiness? Fine, I'll let you sleep. You've given me all the info I needed anyway. _Thank you_ for not obstructing with the justice this time."

Damien hung up without saying a word, which made James chuckle.

He opened another email.

_July 20th, 2016_

_It gets lonely in this apartment. Adrian and I stopped being friends after I killed those Christians and I haven't made other friends since then. He thinks I framed you. Like I would do such a thing._

_He's leader of his own circle now, the Sabnock Church. Apparently I'm too messy, emotional and unreliable to be part of it. Adrian said I was unworthy of you. That was the last time I saw him._

_I tried to contact your Father too, to no avail. I'm waiting for an order, anything, now that you've turned 30. He promised I'd play an important role in this, so I keep waiting. He's my Father too and I know he wouldn’t lie._

 

_July 27th, 2016_

_A detective came to the shop to ask me about you. Have you been naughty, love? And it's always "accidents" with you, isn’t it? Hah. I knew you had it in you, that you could kill better than me. Think about what we could do together._

_How many, Damien? You can tell me. Your secret's safe with me, just as mine is safe with you._

_He also wanted to know about my relationship with you. I had to lie. How could anyone understand that you were more than just my roommate, that I'm the only one who truly understands you? No one can._

_July 27th, 2016_

_I'm so sorry, love. I had to say awful things about you to that detective, all because he kept pestering me about my feelings for you and that is something I don’t tell anyone. So I told him it was you who bullied me in school, not the others. That should keep him off my back. No one believes a person can fall in love with their bully, right?_

_I'm not mad that you haven't replied yet. You're probably busy. Rest well, my King._

 

_July 28th, 2016_

_You must have gotten my new gift by now. Remember, I'll be waiting for you at the trailer park. I'll explain everything there._

That was the last email Charles ever sent.

Detective James sighed, turned the computer off and got up. He realized that reading all those emails with terms he hadn’t heard of in his life didn't make him understand Charles Powell a lot better than before. Mrs. Blackwood gave him a glimpse, but was it enough? Something happened at that school, James thought, something that turned a seemingly nice kid into a serial killer. Or maybe something at home or at that pedophile church.

One thing he was sure of: Powell loved that Thorn psycho more than his own life. Not in the same way James loved his husband, of course, but it was love either way. Cops like him could spend years trying to understand things like that but maybe… maybe they weren't supposed to. Maybe it was better that way.

As he approached the entrance door, two words hammered in his mind: My King. My King, my King… _King of what?_ , James wondered.


End file.
